In the Beginning
by Ryan Brooklyn
Summary: Origins: Wolverine. Despite his parents’ disapproval, young sickly James Howlett likes to be with his best friend Victor Creed. Little does he know the consequences of his actions, and the painful future mutating inside of him. Non-slash.
1. The Groundskeeper's Son

**A/N: I rewatched **_X-Men Origins: Wolverine_** last night and got the idea for a little ficlet (probably won't be more than a few chapters). I know the boy who played young!James had blue eyes, but Hugh Jackman has hazel, so I changed it to hazel.**

**The chapters will probably be shorter than I usually write, as I don't have time to draw them out. =)**

**Disclaimer:** _Why yes, I own everything. Just like I own the Statue of Liberty and Apollo 11._

**Rating:** PG to PG-13 for thematic elements, implied child abuse, and some violence

**Genre:** Drama/Family (Drama encompasses many things including Angst, Hurt/Comfort, and Action)

**Summary:** Origins: Wolverine. Despite his parents' disapproval, young sickly James Howlett likes to be with his best friend Victor Creed. Little does he know the consequences of his actions, and the painful future mutating inside of him. Non-slash.

**In the Beginning**

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****Chapter 1/The Groundskeeper's Son**

He was always there, in the corner of James's eye. At first James did not think much of it. The boy was older than him by at least three years, and the dark scowl he often wore told James he was probably not a very pleasant person. He was always working in the empty rooms of Howlett Manor, as if he were apprehensive of being in any place where others frequented. If he was told by the Howletts to work in a room where people were visiting, he would always stay in the shadows, watching everything from beneath brooding eyebrows.

The only person he did not seem to mind being in a room with was James. In fact, sometimes the boy came uncomfortably close to James whenever he was around. James would be studying in the school room before his tutor arrived for the day, and he would be there, sweeping in the corner, tending the fire, or dusting the furniture. He would sidle up to the table where James sat slowly, trying to appear that he was not. Whenever James looked up at him, he would stare back unashamedly, opening his mouth as if he wanted to say something. But then he would rethink it and turn away, back to his cleaning.

Finally James spoke to him. He was seven and in that stage of life when he was curious about everything and liked to ask a large number of questions. The questions about the servant had been growing steadily inside of him over the past several weeks, but whenever he asked his mother who he was, she would change the subject. So when the boy began to draw close during study time, James turned in his seat and looked up at him.

"Who are you?" he asked bluntly.

The older boy looked startled, before his usual brooding expression returned to his face.

"Victor," he said flatly. "Victor Creed. The groundskeeper's son." His voice was low, and he held his mouth stiffly, his teeth barely showing. It made him sound angry or threatening.

"No you're not," James stated. "The groundskeeper's name is Thomas _Logan_."

Victor was silent for a moment. A loud grinding noise startled James, and he gaped at the older boy once he realized the noise was coming from Victor's teeth. When he realized James was staring, Victor relaxed his jaw and the grinding noise stopped.

"That's my father," he said. "Creed is my mother's family name."

"Why do you want to be called by your mother's family name?" James asked, curiously.

"I never knew my mother." Victor stopped talking there, as if that should explain everything.

"Why do you always follow me around?" James asked, moving on to his next question.

Victor hesitated, then his frown deepened. "Do you always ask so many questions?"

James shook his head quickly, not wanting Victor to be annoyed with him. He looked like the type of boy to get annoyed easily.

"It's a new thing," he said, attempting a small smile. When Victor did not smile back, he looked back down at his book, waiting for Victor to go back to work. But the older boy did not move. James looked back up hesitantly, their eyes fixing on each other: curious hazel meeting frosty blue. Tilting his head, James wondered why he looked so angry all the time. But he could not bring himself to ask. Instead, he turned back to his studying.

"What are you reading?" Victor's stiff voice broke through James's concentration.

James looked up once more to find Victor staring down at the words on the paper with a deep frown. James moved the book slowly over to Victor, smiling again faintly.

"_A Christmas Carol_ by Charles Dickens. You want to read it? It's got a lot of big words, but it's good. Mother read it to me first."

Victor hesitated slightly before sitting down next to James and pulling the book toward him, his lips moving slightly as he tried to sound out the words in his head. He growled in frustration after a moment and shoved it back to James, who caught it awkwardly.

"It's probably some stupid children's story," he said, fiddling with his fingernails. James did a double take when he saw how long they were. When Victor saw that he was staring, he quickly hid his hands underneath the table.

"It's not," James insisted, trying to forget the sight of the ugly nails. He opened the book to the spot he was at and then flipped to the beginning. "It's a ghost story set at Christmastime. It can get really scary sometimes!"

"For you maybe," Victor scoffed. "I never get scared."

James frowned slightly but decided not to ask the question he had on the tip of his tongue. Instead he turned his head down to the book. Without another word, he laid his finger on the first word and tilted the book toward Victor.

"'Marley was dead, to begin with,'" he sounded out in the slow way young children read out loud, doing his best to annunciate each word perfectly. "'There is no doubt about that. The reg-register of his burial was signed by the cl-clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.'" He glanced up and grinned at Victor for the next line he knew by heart. "Old Marley was dead as a doornail."

Victor snorted. "That's stupid. Doornails aren't dead." But James thought he saw the tiniest flicker of a smile dance around the corners of Victor's lips.

"That's what the next part is about," James said, leaning over the book again. Before he could go on however, the door to the schoolroom opened and James's sour-faced tutor stepped into the room.

He stopped short when he saw the two boys seated together at the table. He cleared his throat and pushed his spectacles up his nose with one imperious finger.

"Master James?" he said. "What is going on?"

James turned around quickly, his grin fading. "Good afternoon, Mister Claypole." He looked over at Victor as the table jostled suddenly.

The boy had stood abruptly, grabbing the forgotten broom and sweeping furiously. James coughed lightly in the dirt and dust that billowed up. Mr. Claypole hurried over and grabbed Victor's upper arm in a tight grip.

"Stop that," he snapped. "Don't go sweeping up germs into the air beside Master James! Stupid boy, you'll get him ill."

James watched with wide eyes as his tutor shook Victor roughly. He did not know what to do or to expect, but he breathed a sigh of relief when Victor mumbled, "Sorry, sir" and Mr. Claypole let him go. With a quick glance at James, Victor moved toward the door, opening it slowly and then slamming it behind him when he left. James jumped slightly and only looked up at his tutor when the man touched his shoulder lightly.

"Why did you send him away?" James asked, frowning in confusion.

"He's a servant, Master James. Your kind does not fraternize with his kind." The man sniffed slightly, and wrinkled his nose as if he smelled something bad.

"What's fra-fra-"

"Fraternize. You cannot spend time with him. He cannot be your friend." Mr. Claypole turned away to the blackboard, picking up the chalk.

"Why not?" James asked stubbornly, not seeing what the problem was.

"Your father would not allow it," Mr. Claypole said. "Now, put your book away and get out your arithmetic."

With a sigh, James did as he was told.

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Oh yeah, I don't own _A Christmas Carol_ either. That's Charles Dickens's stuff. Eh, I just realized that the book wasn't published until December of 1843, and this scene takes place in 1842 . . . I suppose I took some creative license there. Messed with the timeline a bit. Oh well, I'm too tired to edit with a different book. I'll probably have the next chapter up very soon. Review and tell me what you think of this one! =)  
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	2. The Howlett Boy

**A/N: Someone informed me that Viktor was in fact spelled Victor, so I went back and edited that. For some reason I thought it was Viktor. I like Viktor better anyway, as it's more unique. But canon is canon. Thanks for the tip Nagatu Tsuzuku Yami!  
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****Chapter 2/The Howlett Boy**

The first thing Victor noticed about the Howlett boy was the scent. It was familiar, although he could not quite put a time and place on where he had smelled it before. He thought he caught a whiff of something similar whenever his dad was sober, but times like that were few and far between.

In all honesty, when Victor started to spend more time around the Howlett boy, he did not quite not what to make of him. The child was . . . sweet. Innocent. Kind. Compassionate. All the things Victor was not. He knew there was no way the two of them could ever be friends, especially with John Howlett keeping such a close eye on both him and his father. Victor did his best to hide the state of his hands from the master of the house, but keeping his secret just made Howlett even more suspicious.

After the incident in the schoolroom, Howlett had asked to see Victor and his father. He told them both what the tutor had told him. That Victor was neglecting his duties and socializing with Howlett's son. This would not be tolerated, he had said. Victor had to remember his place. He was a servant; James was the Master's son. They were forbidden to be friends.

The order to stay away just increased Victor's desire to become friends with the little sickly Howlett boy. That and the fact that his father had then punished Victor for getting caught.

With a sore hide and his usual angry expression, Victor watched jealously as Howlett tucked his son into bed at night. As he sat at the fireplace, placing woodchips into the flames, Victor listened with a tight jaw to James' small voice as he said his evening prayers with his father. Howlett stroked back the boy's hair and placed a soft kiss on James' forehead. Victor felt a sharp pain twist in his gut, and he ground his teeth together. He stopped when Howlett glanced over at him.

"Hurry with that fire, Victor," he said, not unkindly. "We can't have James catching cold, can we?"

Victor glanced over at the boy in the bed, taking in his pale skin and slight body. The boy was a weakling; there was no doubt about that. That was why Victor thought it was fascinating the way that the boy's scent drew him in. Whenever Victor was in the room with James, he felt . . . safe. Home. And he could not explain it, which frustrated him and did not help his mood.

"No, sir," he said stiffly, looking up at Howlett, clenching his fists behind his back.

With a nod and a stiff smile of his own, Howlett left, closing the door halfway behind him. Victor shoved the last of the chips into the fire and stood, swiping his hands on his pants to rid them of the soot. When he looked over at James, the boy was watching him, wide-eyed.

"You were putting your hands into the fire," he said in a half-whisper. "But you're not burned."

Victor looked down at his hands and noticed his fingernails would need to be filed down again soon. James was still staring at him when Victor looked back up. With a sigh Victor stepped up to the bed, hesitating near the foot of it before sitting down slowly. This just made him feel more uncomfortable, so he stood up again, walking over to a chair and bringing it over to the bed, sitting in that instead.

"Listen . . . M-master James," he said, grimacing at the word "Master." "What I'm going to tell you, you can't repeat to _anyone_. Especially not your parents."

The small boy nodded firmly. "I promise I won't say a word," he whispered. After a beat he added, "And you can call me Jimmy. That's what I want my friends to call me . . . if I had any." He smiled slightly, hopefully.

Victor carefully kept his face impassive, but he had to admit to himself that he was touched that James would even _want_ to be his friend. He supposed the boy was lonely. The not very many people lived along the forest where Howlett Manor stood. And none of those who did had children James's age. There were a few younger ones, who liked to scream and play tag in the woods. Their antics made Victor irritated, but he realized that James _should_ be like that. Running and playing with other children. Instead the slight boy was kept indoors, pale and sickly. Mistress Howlett worried too much about his health to let him risk catching pneumonia or hives or even sunburn.

"Fine then, Jimmy," Victor said, wanting to hurry up and tell his secret before he changed his mind. As it was he wondered if he should really let James—Jimmy know about it. Slowly, he held out his hands, his long, ragged fingernails looking sharp and ugly in the firelight. Jimmy leaned forward and stared at them with fascination and awe. "I've got this sort of . . . ability," Victor began to explain. "I think a side effect of it is my nails. They just keep growing, like claws, no matter what I do to keep them filed down."

"What's the ability?" Jimmy asked, tearing his gaze away from the nails and looking up into Victor's face.

Victor glanced briefly at the door and then leaned closer, lowering his voice despite the fact that no one was upstairs anyway. "I can heal," he said, and grinned slightly, revealing unnaturally long eye teeth.

Jimmy stared at him blankly for a moment. "What do you mean?" he asked finally.

With a slight sigh of exasperation, Victor leaned back and pulled his knife from his belt. He used it mostly to skin the rabbits the Howletts had from time to time. He kept it because he thought it was a good knife and so far it was the only one that worked on his nails.

Slowly, he drew the knife across the palm of his hand, hissing slightly at the pain but otherwise not flinching. Jimmy watched, wide-eyed with amazement, as the skin bled for a moment and then began to close, sealing the wound together until it was as smooth as it was before the knife had bit into it. Jimmy reached forward and grabbed the hand, inspecting it closely. Victor shifted slightly under the scrutiny, uncomfortable with the boy so close. His scent was overpowering now and the smell bothered Victor as he still had not been able to figure out why it seemed so familiar.

"How do you do that?" Jimmy asked, looking up at Victor curiously.

"I just can, that's all," Victor said gruffly, pulling his hand away and standing up, shoving the knife back into his belt. "I should leave," he added, glancing at the door. "Your father wouldn't be very happy if he knew I was still here."

"Alright," Jimmy said, sounding disappointed. He leaned back onto his pillows and watched Victor as the older boy picked up the fire poker and shoved a woodchip further into the flames. He set the poker back slowly, his fingers lingering on the iron handle for a few seconds before he turned away and headed to the door.

"Victor," Jimmy said suddenly, sitting up again.

"Go to sleep, Jimmy," Victor scolded, not looking back as he grabbed the doorknob and began to swing the door closed behind him.

"Tomorrow," Jimmy went on, ignoring Victor's words. "Will you play with me?"

Victor hesitated, glancing over his shoulder at the little seven-year-old, dwarfed by his bed and looking over at him with such a hopeful expression, Victor felt his own hardened one softening slightly.

"Sure," Victor said finally with an abrupt nod. With that he shut the door firmly behind him. Once he was outside he took a deep breath, letting out slowly. The scent was fainter and smelled now of Howlett and the Missus. He wrinkled his nose in distaste and turned to move down the stairs.

When he reached the bottom his father was standing by the door, waiting for him.

Thomas Logan scowled down at his son, shifting the ladder in his arms to a less awkward position.

"You're late," he growled. "We needed to be home by this time. I was going out with the other men, remember?"

Victor resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Instead he bit his tongue and nodded, keeping his eyes on the ground.

"What do you say to me?" Logan asked, stepping closer menacingly.

"Sorry, sir," Victor said with as much contempt as he could, looking up to frown into the man's face.

"Get moving. If you're lucky they won't have left yet."

Victor followed after his father, clenching his hands tightly. He flinched when his nails pierced his skin. He looked down at them with another frown. They had grown at least an inch since he had last filed them, and that had been just before entering Jimmy's room. He would have to cut them again as soon as he got home, he realized with a sigh. The nails were so hard, it was painful to cut them down, but he knew he had to. If he did not, he would be punished, for they were noticeable. And no one was to know that Thomas Logan's son was a freak. Not if the man had anything to do about it.

Just before he crossed the threshold of the house, Victor glanced up at the balcony. Up the stairs and down the hall was Jimmy's room. The one person Victor could stand to be around was probably sleeping peacefully by now, while Victor had a nightmare ahead of him. Another pit of jealousy burned in Victor's stomach as he closed up the doors of the Manor and hurried after his father. Jimmy could sleep because he knew he had a father and mother who loved him and would be there to protect him no matter what.

Victor envied the Howlett boy and wanted to hate him for the things he had that Victor could never attain. But he knew he never could, not now at least. Not when he needed him so much.

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End of chapter 2! Boy is it weird having chapters so short! Review and tell me what you think! =D  
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	3. Being Different

**A/N: This chapter turned out loooooooooong. Enjoy!**

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****Chapter 3/Being Different**

"S-T-A-L-L."

"St-stall?"

"That's right!" Jimmy grinned down from the stack of hay bales he sat upon, watching Victor muck out the stalls. Technically he was not supposed to be out there, as the hay often made him sneeze which could lead to an allergic reaction. But this was where Victor was working and so this was where Jimmy deigned to be. After sneezing for a while, Jimmy had decided to quiz Victor on his words and letters. He had spent the past several months teaching Victor how to read. In secret of course, since both Jimmy and Victor knew their parents would believe this to be a waste of time.

The going was slow, mainly because Victor would get frustrated often and when he did, he either tossed the book away or stormed out of the room. But Jimmy was a patient teacher and Victor was learning.

"H-O-R-S-E."

"Horse," Victor said immediately, having guessed that that would be the next one Jimmy would spell out, seeing as the boy was looking at the horses move about in their stalls. They did not like the smell of Victor and were afraid of the boy. Every time he drew near, they would sidestep away, watching him warily. He smirked faintly and faked a lunge at the horse nearest to him. The poor beast almost reared in his fright, whinnying plaintively as he shuffled and pranced as far away from the boy as he could.

Victor could not help but chuckle slightly.

"You're getting really good at this," Jimmy said, just as another voice called into the stables.

"James! Are you there, son?"

Victor turned hastily back to his mucking as John Howlett entered the stables. His eyes grazed over Victor before moving upwards to where James sat upon the hay bales.

"Hello Father!" he called, grinning as he waved.

Howlett laughed quietly and waved back. "Hello, son," he said. "What are you doing up there?"

"Watching Victor," the boy said frankly. "I wanted to help but he wouldn't let me."

"As well he shouldn't," Howlett said with a glance at Victor. The servant kept his eyes on the ground, his lips tightening.

"He told me to stay out of his way so I came up here," Jimmy went on.

"Well come on down, son, we don't want you catching hay fever or any sort of thing like that, now do we?" Howlett gestured for James to come down to him.

The boy clambered down to do just that, but the toe of his shoe caught on the end of one of the bales, and he started to fall forward. Quicker than Howlett could twitch, Victor was at Jimmy's side, grabbing him from the air and setting him upright on his feet. Jimmy grinned.

"Thanks Victor," he said.

Victor said nothing but glanced over at Howlett who was frowning slightly. "Yes, thank you Victor," he said, stepping forward quickly to lay a hand on James's shoulder, almost protectively it seemed.

Taking the hint, Victor moved away, his usual frown crossing over his forehead once more. Jimmy squirmed as Howlett brushed him off and hurried to one end of the stable where his pony stood munching on some hay.

"Father, look how high I can pet him," he said, reaching up toward the pony's neck. Before he came in contact with the animal however, it suddenly shied back a few paces, the whites of its eyes showing as it shook its head in fear. Jimmy jumped back in alarm.

"What's wrong with him?" he asked, doubt creeping into his voice.

Howlett stepped up to his son, a puzzled look on his face. Reaching out, he grabbed the pony's halter and gently drew the shivering horse over, stroking its neck gently. Gradually the horse calmed down, but its nose quivered and when Jimmy tried to step closer, it bobbed its head up and down violently in agitation.

"Victor, take James back to the house," Howlett said. "I'll see if I can calm the horses down."

"Yes, sir," Victor said, setting the rake aside.

"But why—"

"James, don't argue," Howlett said firmly. "Victor."

Victor hurried forward and grabbed a handful of Jimmy's shirt sleeve, tugging him along as he led him out the door. Jimmy looked back once to see his father speaking softly to his pony, petting its neck and rubbing its nose.

Once outside the stables, Jimmy shook Victor off his arm and frowned, putting his hands on his hips.

"Why didn't my pony let me touch him?" he demanded with all the audacity of an eight year old (his birthday had just past the previous week).

"I bet he smelled me on you," Victor gave the only explanation he could think of. "From when I caught you."

"Why do the horses not like your smell?" Jimmy asked, relaxing his arms to his side, satisfied with the first answer and waiting for the second.

Victor shrugged. "Another side-effect of my ability I guess," he said, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the grotesque nails.

"Your ability has a lot of side-effects," Jimmy observed.

"I know." Victor glanced over at the barn where his father could be heard cursing at the chickens as he attempted to clean their living area. Turning away, he looked down at Jimmy. "Come on, your mother will be wondering where you are."

As they walked toward the main house Jimmy asked another question.

"Will you come up to my room and play with me? I got new soldiers."

Victor thought he could come up with a hundred things more exciting to do than to play with tin soldiers in a stuffy bedroom all afternoon, but he knew all his ideas would be too rough and rowdy for the slight, sickly boy. Another downside to being Jimmy's friend. Still time was time and Victor preferred his time be spent with Jimmy rather than without him. Unfortunately that time would not be today.

"My father wants me to come home with him for supper," he said, keeping his face carefully impassive. "We'll be back later in the evening, probably. But I won't be able to play. I'm behind in my work. Your father would not be pleased."

"I don't care what my father says. I want you to play soldiers with me," Jimmy said defiantly, scowling so darkly Victor had to chuckle. He reached out and ruffled the younger boy's dark hair.

"I'd rather be spending time with you too, but if I don't work I get in trouble. And my father wouldn't be pleased with me either."

Jimmy heard something odd in Victor's voice just then. Something he would only come to know later as bitterness. But at the moment he only thought of it in passing and then promptly forgot about it. Since the older boy's expression did not change from its normal brooding look, Jimmy had no further reason to believe anything was wrong.

"I'll sneak out and see you tonight," Jimmy said suddenly as they reached the front doors of the main house.

Victor stopped short and reached out to grab Jimmy shoulder. "No you won't," he said with a low, frightening growl.

Jimmy stared up him, hazel eyes wide with puzzlement and hurt. "Why not?" he demanded.

"Because . . . I said you couldn't. And that should be enough." Without another word of explanation, Victor shoved Jimmy into the doorway of the main house and turned away.

"That's not a reason!" Jimmy shouted at Victor's back. The older boy did not slow in his stride or look back, leaving a disgruntled Jimmy behind.

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That night, when all were in bed, Jimmy pushed back his covers and swung his legs over the side of his bed. The wood creaked slightly as he stepped down, and he froze, counting to ten unnecessarily before stepping out again. He snuck out his door, shutting it softly behind him. Wrapping his robe tighter around his body, he tip-toed as quietly as he could down the stairs. The last step protested loudly to his weight, and he stood frozen a second time, squeezing his eyes shut as he counted down from twenty . . . just in case.

When no one jumped out and grabbed him, he hopped to the floor and ran to the large double doors. Of course they had to be locked. Jimmy looked around the grand foyer. His eyes lit up when he caught sight of the door to the dining room. It led to the kitchen which had a small door that came out behind the house.

He made his way through the house to the kitchen, his bare feet barely making a sound over carpet and polished wood. When he reached the kitchen, he pushed the door open slowly, praying it would be silent. It was. With a grin, he bounded out into the darkness, heading for the groundskeeper's house which he knew lay to the west of the property. It was not a lot of information to go on, but Jimmy was confident he would be able to find his way.

It was cold outside, frost glistening in the moonlight. It was just the beginning of spring. The snow from winter had melted away already, but the warmth of summer had not yet come upon the Northwest Territory of Canada. Jimmy's feet were cold, but he kept moving in order to warm them. He wondered if he should have put on some shoes before he left. It seemed silly to have forgotten them, but in his haste to get out of the house he must have.

As he went on he wondered briefly if this was a good idea. Victor had seemed very adamant about him not visiting the groundskeeper's home. Jimmy frowned when he remembered the furious look on the older boy's face as he told him never to come over. But Jimmy was positive Victor would change his mind once Jimmy got there. He would be so pleased to see him, he would forget all about being angry. With that positive thinking, Jimmy hurried forward as he saw the lights of a house ahead.

He drew up short when he came within shouting distance. He knew it was shouting distance because that was the first thing he heard. Angry shouts. Suddenly he wondered if this had been a good idea after all. Stealthily he crept toward the side of the house where a window was. He could recognize the voice now. It was Thomas Logan, Victor's father. He was yelling at someone. Jimmy could only make out shadows moving about in the house, so he could not tell who was receiving the brunt of Logan's anger. As he knelt underneath the window, Jimmy heard a second voice and his breath caught in his throat. It was Victor's voice.

"Father, you've had too much to drink. Go to bed and sleep it off." He sounded rather irritated and not at all afraid of the ranting and raving drunkard that was his father.

"You do not talk to me that way, you miserable piece of –" he went on to call his son a list of names that caused Jimmy's mouth to drop open and wonder if his mother would scrub his mouth out with soap if he ever tried them back at home.

Victor then proceeded to shoot the insults back at his father. This resulted in loud shouting, crashing, and the harsh sound of flesh hitting flesh. Jimmy winced as each blow found its target. Through the entire ordeal however, Jimmy could not help but feel proud of Victor. Never once did he hear the boy cry out or scream in pain. But a sick feeling twisted in his gut as he realized what was happening. And Victor was not fighting back. Jimmy could tell because after a while there was silence except for the sound of heavy, labored breathing. And then Thomas Logan spoke.

"When I get back I expect this place to be clean. You hear me little—" again with the list of names. Jimmy chewed on his bottom lip and kept completely still as the drunk man staggered out of his house. The wet frost was seeping into Jimmy's clothes, and his toes felt almost frozen, but he did not so much as flinch as Logan stormed away into the woods toward the path that would take him to the nearest town.

For a few moments nothing moved inside the house, then Jimmy could hear the sound of furniture being righted and glass being swept up. He contemplated just leaving now and pretending he had never been there, but when he stood slowly he found his legs had fallen asleep and they crumpled underneath him, tossing his body to the ground. He could not help but yelp softly in surprise. The movement inside the house ceased. All was still and quiet and not even the crickets chirped. Jimmy then noticed that he had not heard any sort of animal during his entire eavesdropping.

The window suddenly burst open and Victor leaped out of the house, landing on top of Jimmy and pinning the smaller boy underneath him.

"I told you never to come here!" Victor shouted, his discolored face contorted with rage. Jimmy stared, wide-eyed, as numerous bruises and cuts healed themselves before his eyes. "What are you doing here?!" Victor lifted Jimmy's shoulders slightly before slamming him back onto the ground so hard the younger boy's teeth rattled together.

"Victor, you're hurting me!" Jimmy cried out breathlessly from lack of air to his lungs. Victor's knee had landed directly in his stomach. And now the tight grip with those long fingernails did not help either.

Victor scowled down at him for a moment before standing, dragging Jimmy up with him by the younger boy's robe. With an unceremonial shove, he sent Jimmy staggering off in the direction of Howlett Manor. Before he got far however, the boy collapsed, teeth chattering, hand shaking, cold all over from the weather and the scene he had just witnessed.

With a sigh and a growl of frustration and irritation, Victor stormed over and grabbed another handful of the boy's robe, pulling him to his feet.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded through gritted teeth. He peered down at the younger boy and noticed with some concern (although he did not show it) that Jimmy's face was pale, his lips turning blue. As he stood there, wondering what to do, Jimmy started coughing. Lightly at first, but enough to throw Victor into a slight panic.

"Oh no," he cried (using a much stronger word than "no"), knowing he would be blamed for Jimmy's getting ill if anyone found them outside together.

As he glared down at the shivering boy, he felt himself soften slightly. As angry as he was that Jimmy had come to his house after he had explicitly told the boy not to, he realized that Jimmy had eavesdropped on the entire fight with his father. Something like that had to have been traumatic for the boy. That coupled with the weather conditions and the fact that Jimmy was wearing nothing but a long night shirt and a robe, caused Victor to worry about his friend's health. And the punishment Victor was to surely get if anyone found out that he was the cause of Jimmy's cold.

So with a sigh, he started forward, pulling the stumbling boy behind him. When the boy began to fall again, Victor stooped and picked him up, one arm under Jimmy's knees, the other around his back. He was surprisingly light and Victor found he could run easily. That was good: they could reach the Manor before anyone noticed they were gone.

Jimmy moaned slightly at the bumpy ride, but did not protest to being carried. He was exhausted from the long walk through the icy frost and then the terror of witnessing his best friend being beaten by his own father. The memory was enough to make the small boy shudder. Victor thought the movement was from the cold and so ran faster.

When they reached the Manor there was no one outside looking for them. Victor took that as a good sign. He made his way through the kitchen, dining room, and foyer, moving up the stairs carefully, avoiding the creaky steps. When he arrived at Jimmy's room, he laid the boy down on the bed and covered him with the sheets and blankets before moving over to the fireplace and adding some more woodchips to the dying flames.

"Victor?" James asked weakly from his bed, coughing lightly into his hand.

There was a pause before Victor spoke.

"Yeah?" he asked, his voice gruff, his cold blue eyes on the flickering fire.

"Why does your father hit you?"

The question was so innocent and frank that it took Victor a moment to figure out how to answer. He turned away from the fire and looked directly over at Jimmy, his face now obscured in shadow.

"Because I'm different," he stated flatly. "Get some sleep. You'll be sick in the morning."

He headed toward the door.

"Victor?"

Victor paused, his fingernails grazing the edges of the doorknob. "Yeah?" He kept his eyes on the doorway, itching to get away from Jimmy's questions.

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you."

Victor could not help but smile slightly, revealing those sharp eye teeth. He glanced over his shoulder at Jimmy. "You should worry more about what your father is going to say when he finds out your sick from being outside after dark."

"He won't find out. I'll tell him the wind got through my window." Jimmy knew now that the consequences for Victor getting in trouble were far more serious than he could have imagined.

Victor could not help but feel impressed. Lying to the head of the household? Who did that? He certainly would have never expected it from a rich, momma's boy like James Howlett. He nodded in response to the statement.

"Thanks," he said and moved to leave again.

"Victor?"

Victor was tempted to sigh but made himself not, instead he simply stood in the doorway, about the close the door. "Yeah?"

"I don't care that you're different. You're the best friend I've ever had."

Victor shook his head slightly. "Goodnight, Jimmy," he said, unable to keep his voice impassive. A slight fondness entered his tone, which surprised him. He wondered vaguely if he was growing soft in regards to Jimmy. He would have to keep an eye on that.

"Goodnight, Victor" came the sleepy reply.

Victor shut the door and paused before heading down the hall, breathing in deeply, savoring the scent that lingered around the edges of the door. Victor still had not figured out why James smelled so familiar, but he decided he would stop agonizing about it. Why second-guess a good thing? He should just accept the contented, safe feeling he felt when around Jimmy. After all, the boy had just admitted that Victor was his best friend. He could not take that for granted.

That was probably the nicest thing anyone had ever said to him. In that moment Victor claimed Jimmy as his own brother. He would tell no one of course, but there the bond would be. For indeed, the bond between them was like one between two siblings.

Instead of heading down to return to his house, Victor lay down on the floor in front of Jimmy's room, breathing the comforting scent in deeply. Before he was completely asleep, he felt the door open behind him.

"Victor?" a soft voice from above him asked softly.

"Yeah?" he mumbled, still half asleep.

"Nothing. I just felt like you were there and wanted to make sure."

With that the door closed, but not all the way. A small crack kept the two boys connected as Jimmy got back into his bed and Victor drifted off to sleep in front of his best friend's bedroom.

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**So yeah, lots happened in this chapter. I'm getting near the end, I foresee only about 3 more chapters left. I don't know if they'll be as long as this one though, lol. Although they might! My Muse seems to really like this story, so I'm sure she'll help out plenty. Review and tell me what you think of the chapter!**


	4. Metamorphosis

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait everyone! I was doing NaNoWriMo and it took up all of my time. But here is an extra long chapter for ya'll. The words through most of this were taken straight from the movie and I don't own it at all.**

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****Chapter 4/Metamorphosis**

Jimmy was indeed sick the next day, and he remained sick for the rest of the week. Thankfully Mr. and Mrs. Howlett believed the story of the open window and did not even suspect that their well-behaved child had been outside after dark. Victor stayed by Jimmy's bed almost every single day while the boy was sick. Logan did not like it, and neither did the Howletts. But aside from threatening his son, Logan could not do anything about it. The Howletts could not lock the door, and Victor was needed to keep the fire going.

While Jimmy slowly got better, Victor struggled through _A Christmas Carol_, reading it out loud to his friend. Jimmy found it amusing how his friend could read such an amazing book with a scowl on his face. Once he did get better, the two boys were practically inseparable. Even so they made sure the Howletts knew nothing about how much time they spent together. Logan found out, but he finally seemed to get over whatever was bothering him about the situation and stopped punishing Victor for it. Besides, no matter what he did, Victor ended up with the Howlett boy anyway.

The years passed and while Victor grew bigger and stronger, Jimmy just seemed to grow weaker. He was sick almost constantly. No one could figure out why, besides the fact that the boy was so slight and never seemed to get well completely.

It was when Victor was thirteen and Jimmy was ten that everything changed.

Jimmy was sick once more, coughing in bed. It was late and Logan had already gone home. Victor should have gone back with him, but he never liked to leave Jimmy when he was sick. So he stalled, sweeping the floors, putting more wood in the fire, fluffing his pillows, and finally cutting his nails. Jimmy watched him with interest, wanting to tell him that he did not have to do all those chores to stay, but he decided not to say anything as Victor was wearing a dark scowl than usual.

"You're always sick," he said in slight annoyance as Jimmy coughed again. The real reason he was in such a bad mood was that he knew his father had not gone home like Howlett had told him, but had gone out for drinks with the other men servants like he did often. It frustrated Howlett but there really was no way of stopping him. And Victor knew that when he went home, a beating would be waiting for him.

"You were sick when you were my age," Jimmy said in his defense. And it was true, mostly. Victor had gotten sick a couple of times, allegedly. Really it was fake; an attempt to be more normal. Unfortunately Logan had caught on and had given him a beating that had him hurting long after his body had healed.

Victor did not answer, only turned back to his nails. The door opened then and Howlett came into the room. Victor stood quickly, hiding his hands and the knife behind his back.

"Evening, sir," he said, barely concealing his irritation. He could see the surprise and then guarded look in Howlett's eyes when the man saw him. Victor wished he would go away. Jimmy did not need him, Victor could take care of the boy just as well as Howlett could. Better even.

"Evening, Victor," Howlett said. "I didn't realize you were still here." He moved over to the bed and sat down.

"I was just keeping James company, sir. If that's alright." Jimmy looked over at Victor, seeing the anger in the boy's face and noticing the tight way in which spoke. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but he knew he could not with his father in the room.

"Very kind of you," Howlett said, almost as a dismissal, turning back to Jimmy. Leaning over, he felt his son's forehead. "Any better, son?"

"Still cold, Father," Jimmy admitted. He had pretended not to be for Victor's sake. He could now see the pain in the boy's eyes whenever he put the woodchips in the fire with his bare hands. He dared not glance at Victor though, for he knew the boy would not be happy finding out that Jimmy had been lying to him.

"Just a mild fever," Howlett said, adjusting the blankets over him. "You'll be all right in the morning."

"You always say that," Jimmy said with a smile, forgetting about Victor for the moment.

Howlett chuckled softly. "And you always pull through, don't you?"

Jimmy nodded with a smile. "Yeah."

Victor watched the exchange with dark jealousy in his heart. When he was younger he would have done anything for his father to speak to him in such a gentle way. Now he knew that was impossible and instead of being jealous of Jimmy, he was jealous of Howlett. Jimmy looked up to his father in a way that Victor knew he could never look up to him.

"Now, are you taking your medicine?"

Before Jimmy could answer this question, a loud banging noise came from downstairs. Someone was pounding on the front door.

"Elizabeth!" It was Thomas Logan's voice, angrily calling for James's mother. "Elizabeth!"

Howlett turned his head toward Victor.

"Your father's drunk again," he said solemnly.

"Elizabeth!" Logan called again.

"You should help him home, Victor," Howlett said.

Behind his back, Victor clenched his hands so tightly that his nails pierced his skin. This time however, despite the pain, he did not flinch. His face was hard as he did his best to keep his anger in check. How dare Howlett send him to deal with his own problem? If Howlett wanted Logan to go home, he should send him home himself, and Victor did not care if his father tripped in his drunken stupor and killed himself on a rock. He was not going to endure a beating tonight.

"It's not my name he's calling, sir," he said, forcing the words out with painful politeness, barely concealing his contempt.

Howlett did not look like he appreciated Victor's tone, but he stood and headed for the door.

"Father!" Jimmy said, fearful of Logan and his wrath when drunk. He did not want his father to let the man in.

"Stay where you are, James," Howlett demanded, leaving the room.

From downstairs came the sound of the door opening and James's mother crying out in pain.

"Get off me!"

Curiosity getting the better of him, as well as the desire to see his father get thrown out of the house, made Victor follow after Howlett. At the last minute he remembered Jimmy. It was his mother in danger, surely the boy would try to follow and Victor did not want him to get caught in the middle of all that mess. Glancing behind him briefly, he closed the door, shutting Jimmy in the room.

Jimmy clutched his blanket to his chin as he listened to the shouting downstairs.

"Now you never loved him!" Logan shouted at someone, presumably Elizabeth Howlett, Jimmy's mother.

His mother was in danger of the drunken groundskeeper. He only hoped his father would get there in time to help her.

Victor jumped the last steps and stopped short when he saw Howlett and his father facing each other. In Logan's arms was a struggling Elizabeth, her face pale with fright. Victor could not risk his father seeing him, not in this way, especially not when he had a large rifle in his free hand. Glancing around quickly, he dove underneath the stairs, in the small, dark nook where he could watch everything in safety.

"I told you never to come back here," Howlett shouted at his groundskeeper, and Victor knew he meant "never to come back here drunk." It had happened once, a year or so ago. Logan had come to work drunk and Howlett had sent him home, telling him not to do such a thing again. Victor remembered because Logan had taken out his frustration on his freak son.

Before Victor could fully process this though, Howlett took a step toward his wife and Logan shot him, the gun blast echoing throughout the house so loudly that Victor jumped slightly. Elizabeth screamed and Victor stared, wide-eyed. It was the first time he had witnessed a man shoot another.

"Get out!" Logan said, moving toward the door with Elizabeth. Victor wondered if his father had finally gone completely mad.

Victor looked up as he heard feet pounding down the stairs. He knew it had to be Jimmy, but before he could step out and stop him from seeing his father lying bloody on the ground, the boy was beside Howlett, bending over him, tears shining in his eyes.

Howlett reached up and grasped Jimmy's robe, pulling himself up to look his son in the eye.

"James?" he whispered almost inaudibly. Then he fell back, dead.

Jimmy found he was shaking uncontrollably, with anger and with grief. His father, the man who had just been alive and well and tucking him into bed, was now dead and cold. And Thomas Logan, Victor's despicable father, was responsible.

"No!" Elizabeth cried, tears streaming down her pale cheeks.

"James?" Logan said in a voice that surprised all present.

Jimmy slowly raised his eyes to look at Logan, still trembling.

"There are things you don't understand," Logan said, trying to keep a struggling Elizabeth close to his side.

"Don't!" Elizabeth begged. From his hiding place, Victor frowned in confusion. What was going on?

"I need him to know!" Logan shouted.

"Please don't."

"No more lies!"

Jimmy felt a prickling sensation in his shaking fist. Looking down at it, he watched in horror as bony spikes began to slowly rising from the space between his knuckles. Even Logan and Elizabeth froze in place as they watched the spikes elongate.

"James?" Elizabeth asked hesitantly.

Victor's mouth dropped open in shock. Jimmy was like him? How could that be possible? He had known the boy for three years. They had barely spent an hour apart during the day. How could Victor have missed this? He started slightly as he watched Jimmy throw back his head and scream in pain and rage and grief. Leaping up from his place beside his dead father, he rushed at Logan.

The man pointed the rifle at the charging boy, but Elizabeth reached up and shoved it away. It went off with a bang but to no avail. Jimmy's new bones pierced Logan's stomach and with surprising strength the small boy slammed him into the door to the dining room.

"James!" Elizabeth cried horrified.

Victor's eyes widened. He wanted to rush out and pull Jimmy off his father . . . but then again, he did not. He inched forward slightly and stared with horrified fascination at the scene before him. Elizabeth was sobbing, but Logan did not look angry or upset. Instead he grabbed Jimmy's shoulders and stared down at the shaking boy.

"He-he wasn't . . . your father," he forced out.

Jimmy turned his head to stare at his mother, not believing the man. He looked at her, silently begging her to tell him it was not true, that Logan was lying. But she only looked at him with fear and dismay.

"Son," Logan said, and Jimmy looked back up at him in disbelief. He backed up and stared as the man slumped to the ground, dead.

He felt . . . he was not sure what he felt. It could not be true . . . he did not want to believe it. But there his mother was, not denying it, not protesting, just staring at him in shock.

"What are you?" she asked, her voice full of disgust.

Those words alone ripped into Jimmy's chest as if she had stabbed him. He stumbled back, feeling dirty and ashamed with Elizabeth looking at him like he was something other than human. Like he was a freak. His heart was pounding rapidly, faster than he thought a heart could possibly beat. He heard a rushing noise in his ears, and he felt sick. But he no longer felt weak. He felt strong. And he needed to get away. With his mother looking at him like that. . . . Turning away, he ran out of the open doors, needing to get as far away from the gruesome scene as possible.

Victor watched him go. Glancing over at Elizabeth, he slowly crawled out of his hiding place. She was weeping, holding herself tightly as she rocked back and forth over the dead bodies in her front room. Victor curled his lip in disgust. Everything made sense now. Logan had always seemed to have a soft spot for Elizabeth. Victor had often caught him gazing at Mistress Howlett when he thought no one was looking. And the scent . . . the familiar scent of Jimmy's that always seemed to call to Victor . . .

Jimmy. Victor looked over at the door, his heart suddenly racing. They would be after him. They would lock him up in some asylum, treat him like a freak. Like something not human. But if there was anyone who was the most human in that household, it was Jimmy. Victor could not let anything happen to the boy. Without another glance back, he took off after him

Despite being sick the small boy was faster than Victor first realized. With a growl of annoyance for falling so far behind, Victor lunged forward, digging his hands into the dirt in front of him, propelling his body forward like a large cat, moving faster through the woods than a normal human could run. He soon overtook Jimmy and tackled him to the ground.

Jimmy scrambled out from underneath Victor and held his fists up defensively. Victor jumped to his feet as well, freezing in place when he saw the fear in the younger boy's wide eyes.

_He's afraid_, Victor realized with a slightly sick feeling in his stomach. _He's afraid of_ me_._

"I didn't mean it!" Jimmy was yelling. His pale cheeks were streaked with tears. "I didn't mean it!"

"Yes, you did," Victor said in a low voice, staying completely still. He knew what wild animals did when they were frightened, when they were hurt. Jimmy had ability, like Victor's, but he needed to know it was okay. That Victor was not angry with him. There was no need to be afraid. "He deserved it, and you gave it to him."

When Jimmy saw that Victor was not going to try and get back at him for killing his father, he relaxed, but only slightly. His hazel eyes watched the taller boy warily as Victor stepped forward, placing his hands on Jimmy's slender shoulders and bending slightly to meet his gaze.

"We're brothers, Jimmy. You realize that?" Victor looked earnestly into Jimmy's eyes, trying to get him to understand fully what had just happened. "And brothers protect each other. You have to be hard now. Hard so nothing can ever touch us." It hurt Victor to say, to demand so much from such an innocent and sweet boy . . . but he was not innocent anymore. He could not afford to remain sweet. It would only get him hurt, or worse.

"I want to go home," Jimmy said miserably.

"We can't," Victor said, slipping into the plural easily. "We stick together, no matter what. And take care of _anyone_ who gets in our way." Dogs barked somewhere behind him, but Victor remained fixed on Jimmy, wanting-no, _needing_ him to understand. "Can you do that, little brother?" The words felt good coming out of his mouth. They were really brothers. Half-brothers, maybe. But brothers nonetheless. And he needed Jimmy to understand that they could never be apart now. They needed each other. If they were to survive this harsh, cruel world, where regular humans would despise them and call them freaks, they would need to stick together through anything.

After some slight hesitation, Jimmy nodded. He was frightened and disoriented, but he knew one thing for certain. Victor would take care of him, no matter what. That thought was comforting, even through the chaos raging in his mind and body, through the pain in his hands where the spines had come out, through the aching beat of his heart.

"I'm going down the river!" A shout sounded from behind them.

Victor glanced over his shoulder, smelling the scent of dog and men and fire. A search party was already out looking for them. "They're coming," he said, turning back around to look at Jimmy. "Can you run?"

Jimmy nodded again and Victor grabbed him, shoving him around and forward before taking his wrist and sprinting deeper into the trees, pulling Jimmy along behind him.

"Keep on running," he said, looking back at Jimmy and then beyond to where the dog continued to bark and the moving torches grew closer. "And don't look back."

"Okay," Jimmy said in a small voice.

At first the smaller boy lagged behind but as they ran, his normally weak legs seemed to grow stronger, and it was not long before Jimmy began to overtake Victor.

Despite this the dogs continued to gain on them. Victor knew they would catch up with them soon, for no matter how much strength Jimmy had gained, they were still only children. As they ran, Victor glanced around swiftly, searching for a place to hide. The trees were tall and close together, but there were no shrubbery to hide behind, no caves to crawl into.

Then Victor remembered the river. Men were going down there, but if they could get into the water, higher up on the bank, the dogs would be thrown off their scent. At least Victor hoped it would work that way. He was pretty sure both his and Jimmy's scents were stronger than the normal humans. But it was the only plan he could think of.

Putting on a burst of speed, Victor pulled ahead of Jimmy and turned to the right, heading toward the part of the creek that led into town. As they came up to the bank, Jimmy stumbled over a tree root and fell headlong into the water with a great splash. He flailed around, the cold water shocking his body so that he cried out involuntarily. With a frustrated growl, Victor dove into the water after him, slapping his hand over his little brother's mouth and holding him close to his chest, trapping his arms with his free arm.

For several long, tense moments Victor and Jimmy huddled in the freezing water, waiting for the search party to come upon them and take them away. Jimmy shivered, his eyes wide, his breathing ragged. He could feel Victor's rapid heartbeat through his wet shirt and wondered how he could stand the cold. The older boy seemed immune to any kind of elements, hot or cold. Perhaps it was because he was just used to being uncomfortable or in pain. Jimmy turned his eyes up to look at the boy he had just come to learn was his older brother. The hand covering his mouth began to smell. It smelled almost like wet cat, but it was not too unpleasant. Jimmy wrinkled his nose and sniffed at it.

Victor glanced down and noticed Jimmy was sniffing his hand. With a look of distaste, he pulled his hand away.

"Stop that," he hissed. "We need to get further up the river. Come on." Grabbing Jimmy's now soaking robe, he hauled the boy to his feet and staggered against the currant up the river, trying to make as little noise as possible.

"Your hand smells funny," Jimmy observed, wrapping his arms around his body in an attempt to warm himself.

"Yeah I know," Victor said brusquely. "Stop talking and get moving. We've got to put as much distance between us and them as we can. There's a town up there. The river runs right by it. We can find a place to hide there."

"Okay," Jimmy said, shivering some more.

They sloshed up the river together. Victor could no longer hear the dogs behind them and hoped they had been in the river long enough for the scent to have faded off.

"Victor?"

Victor grunted in response, keeping his eyes ahead, being able to see the lights of the town in the distance. They were drawing closer to their destination.

"I can't feel my feet."

Victor froze and then turned around, looking down into the water. He had forgotten that Jimmy was completely barefoot. Not only that, he was wearing only a robe and thin cotton pants. The boy was standing there, looking up at him anxiously, shivering from head to toe. His lips were turning blue and his face was pale.

Victor cursed. Jimmy, no matter how much stronger he had become, was not used to putting his body through such strenuous activity and especially not in this type of weather.

"Get on my back," he said in a tone that demanded no argument. Turning, he offered his back to the younger boy and after some slight hesitation Jimmy clambered up, hooking his arms around Victor's neck and his legs around his waist. With a slight sigh Jimmy leaned his head against Victor's back, closing his eyes and taking comfort in his brother's body warmth.

"Victor?"

"Eh?"

"I'm glad you're with me."

Victor said nothing. Gripping Jimmy's legs tightly, he trudged up the river, toward the lights ahead.

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**One more chapter and then an epilogue! But first I'm going to work on my other two fics so it might take a little while to get up. In the meantime review and tell me what you think of this chapter!**


	5. Dangerous Fugitives

**A/N: Sorry this took so long! Last chapter before the epilogue.  
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****Chapter 5/Dangerous Fugitives**

Victor ducked into the first shed he saw. Laying Jimmy against a sack of . . . something, he went up and closed the doors tightly. It was hard to see, but his eyes had always gotten used to the dark quickly. Turning to the shivering boy, he crouched in front of Jimmy, grabbing a hold of his brother's feet roughly.

"Ow!" Jimmy yelped through chattering teeth as Victor began to rub one foot after the other in quick succession. "Th-that hurts!"

Victor gave the boy a withering glare. "Keep it down, will you?" he hissed. "We're fugitives now. That means we're running from the law and we've got to stay _quiet_."

"I _know_ w-what 'fugitives' m-means." Jimmy sulked.

The blood returned to his feet sooner than Victor expected. In just a couple minutes Jimmy's feet looked completely normal. Victor dropped them to the floor and went to the door to peer outside. It was still dark though he had no idea what time it was. He could only hope that they had put enough distance between them and the dogs through the river that no one would be able to find them.

"What now?" Jimmy asked as Victor turned back to him.

"Now we're going to get some rest," Victor said, sitting on the ground beside his brother. "In the morning we're going to hop a train. Go down to New England. We need to get out of here."

"But that's in America!"

"Obviously."

"But hopping a train . . . that's illegal."

Victor looked over at Jimmy and fixed the younger boy with a cold stare. "So is killing," he pointed out gruffly, before lying down beside him and folding his hands behind his head, closing his eyes.

Jimmy fell silent at that, a sick feeling creeping up into his stomach. As much as Logan deserved it for killing his father (No, his brain told him, not your father. Your stepfather.), it made Jimmy feel nauseous to think that he had actually murdered someone with his bare hands. He had not even known he was capable of _hurting_ another human being, let alone killing them.

"Victor?"

"Hmm."

"I'm sorry for killing your father."

"No you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No. You're not."

Jimmy sat up and frowned down at Victor for a moment. Ice blue eyes met his stare with an impassive look. It was impossible to read the older boy's expression. With a sigh Jimmy sagged his shoulders in defeat.

"No," he admitted finally in a very small voice. "I'm not."

Victor rose slightly, propping himself on one elbow as he turned to his brother. "Look Jimmy, my—_our_ father was a villain. I hated him. He killed your stepfather. He beat me on a regular basis. He deserved what he got, understand?"

Jimmy just nodded dumbly.

"Good." Victor lay back down, his eyes closing slowly. "Now get some sleep. We've got a long journey ahead."

Silently Jimmy did as he was told. Curling his fingers into a fist, he stared down at his knuckles. The memory of the bony spikes emerging from his small, pale hands made him shudder. Stuffing his hand into his robe, he closed his eyes and did his best not to think about what had happened that night. With a tiny whimper, he moved closer to Victor, burying his face in the older boy's side.

Victor started in surprise when he felt Jimmy curl up next to him. Awkwardness settled within him for a moment as he pondered what to do. He was tempted to push the little boy away (the floor was uncomfortable enough without Jimmy crowding him, not to mention Victor was not used to much physical contact), but another part of him, a stronger part, was comforted that his brother felt so protected in his presence.

Slowly, unsurely, Victor brought his arm down to encircle Jimmy's shoulders. The little boy snuggled closer, his warm breath making a puff of white mist in the cold air as he exhaled in contentment. Deciding this was not so bad after all, Victor closed his eyes, inhaling his brother's scent deeply before finally allowing his body to relax. After a moment, both of them were fast asleep.

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It took them several days to get to the train station and then wait for a train that was heading the right way and was empty enough for them to hop into one of the storage cars to ride in. During that time the boys stayed in the shed, sleeping during the day, hunting for food at night. Jimmy refused to catch game using his claws. He looked away whenever Victor savagely broke the neck of a rabbit or stolen chicken. Victor tried to teach Jimmy a few moves on how to fight, and while Jimmy listened and obeyed to the basic instructions, the moment Victor told him to extend the bony spikes the younger boy would refuse and walk away.

Finally the train arrived and Victor hauled Jimmy up into one of the cars, settling down near the back behind a stack of crates that held who knows what. He quickly shushed the smaller boy as he bumped against one of the crates, making it wobble dangerously. Jimmy scowled slightly but picked his way more carefully toward his brother. Together they hunched down and waited for the train to begin moving.

Once the train had picked up momentum, Victor crawled out of their hiding spot and stood shakily in the empty space in the middle of the car near the door. He beckoned for Jimmy to follow him. Once the younger boy was there Victor grinned faintly and held up his fists.

"Come on, little brother," he said, swaying slightly with the movement of the train. "Let's see how well you fight on a moving floor."

Jimmy approached hesitantly, putting his fists up slowly. Instantly Victor advanced, shooting out with his fist at the boy. Jimmy quickly deflected the blow and rolled underneath the next one, bopping Victor in the stomach before standing up. Victor doubled over slightly with a grin before taking another swipe at his brother's head.

As they fought Victor noticed the defensive way in which Jimmy struck out. He always ducked and weaved, only hitting back when it was in self-defense. He needed to get on the offensive if he ever hoped to win a fight. Victor shook his head and took a step back.

"Stop with the dancing around, Jimmy," he said. "You need to attack me, not just defend yourself. Use your claws!"

"No," Jimmy said firmly, shaking his head. "I'm never going to use those again." His hands relaxed and fell to his sides.

Victor shook his head again and sighed. Pausing for a moment he quickly formulated a plan in his head. It was mean, and underhanded, and he felt slightly guilty about it, but he knew it would be the only way for it to work.

"You're incredibly weak, you know that?" he spat out with contempt, ignoring the hurt look that flashed in Jimmy's eyes. A sick feeling settled in his stomach, but he ignored that too.

"You need to get angry, Jimmy. That's the best way to get your claws out. Get angry. Come on, you gotta be angry at something. I mean, our dad killed your stepfather. You should be angry at him then, shouldn't you?" He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Or maybe you just didn't care that much about your father. I'm sorry, stepfather."

Tears stood out in Jimmy's eyes and his hands trembled. He quickly curled them into tight balls. "Why are you saying these things to me?" he forced out, blinking rapidly.

"Because you're a weakling! You couldn't fight off my dad if he hadn't been surprised. He would have killed you if not for your mother. And yet I bet she wishes she hadn't pushed the shotgun out of the way. I saw the way she looked at you. She hates you."

With a cry of rage and pain, Jimmy jumped at Victor, bony spikes pushing their way through the skin between his knuckles. Victor did not have time to knock him down before the claws pierced his chest, and he fell to the ground, Jimmy on top of him.

"Don't you ever say that!" Jimmy cried, his face red with anger. He froze suddenly as he looked down into Victor's still face. Looking down, he stared horrified at his fist pressed against his brother's chest, blood trickling out of the puncture wounds. With a gasp he pulled away and stared at the bloody spikes. Scrambling away, he hastened to wipe the blood off before quickly retracting the claws and rushing to Victor's side. He could see that the claws had stabbed his brother's heart.

"Victor?" he whispered softly. In the dim light of the car, he could see that Victor's face was pale and his chest was motionless. He reached out and shook his brother's arm, tears beginning to make their way down his flushed cheeks. "Victor! Wake up! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it! Just wake up. Please!"

Clutching at Victor's clothes, he buried his face in the older boy's stomach, his shoulders trembling as he held back violent sobs. He started in surprise when, after a moment, the stomach bounced as Victor began to chuckle softly. Bolting upright, Jimmy stared down in shock as his brother sat up slowly and rubbed the back of his head ruefully before staring down at his chest. Opening his shirt quickly, both boys watched as the puncture wounds began closing up.

"So that's what dying feels like," Victor said, a smile making his mouth twitch faintly.

Jimmy, however, was angry. Making sure no spikes were protruding this time, he attacked Victor with all his might, punching him hard in the stomach, in the chest, in the face. Together the two boys rolled around on the hard wood of the train car, the sound of their struggling muffled by the loud clacking and rumble of the train's wheels.

So furious was Jimmy that he finally got the upper hand, slamming Victor down on the floor, pressing his knee into the larger boy's stomach and gripping his coat tightly as he snarled.

"Why did you do that? _Why_?" he demanded, choking on his words.

"To get you to fight properly," Victor answered with an almost feral smile.

"I could have killed you!"

"I think you did."

Jimmy gritted his teeth. "Don't you _ever_ do that to me again! You scared me half to death! I thought I was losing you. I couldn't ever lose you. I _need_ you!"

Victor's smile faded. "You're not going to lose me, Jimmy."

Ice blue eyes stared up into hazel ones, and for once the blue was not hostile or cold. They were tender, soft, affectionate. It was a look that Jimmy had never seen in Victor's eyes before. Very slowly, he rolled off his brother and then stood, looking down at the boy with a slight frown. After a brief moment Victor stood as well, placing his hands on Jimmy's shoulders and bending down slightly to look at the smaller boy directly.

"Look Jimmy, I know you hate to use your claws, but you have to start fighting with them. Obviously I'm not going to stay dead if you kill me with them. It'll be good practice."

"I don't want to kill you," Jimmy sniffled, scrubbing at his face with the back of his robe sleeve.

"You're gonna have to," Victor said solemnly. "But it's okay, because I'll come right back. You need to get used to fighting aggressively. Because people out there want to hurt us and they won't go easy on you. It's kill or be killed."

Jimmy sighed. "We're the bad guys, aren't we, Victor?"

Victor shook his head. "No. We're not bad. We're just different. Those out there, the humans? They're the bad guys."

"But Victor . . . aren't we human?" Jimmy looked up at his brother with a troubled gaze.

Victor hesitated before nodded absently. "Sure we are," he said carefully. "But we're better than them. We've got powers they can never get. And they'll try to capture us and kill us for it. So that's why we've got to learn how to fight back. To protect ourselves. I'm not going to let anything happen to you, but you've got to make sure nothing ever happens to me either, got that? We've got to protect each other, little brother. Can you do that?"

Jimmy did not pause before nodding. "I-I'll fight for _you_. But not because I want to."

Victor frowned slightly, wondering for a moment what that meant.

"I don't like fighting," Jimmy went on. "But I'll do it for you. Because you need me to. I'll be strong for you, Victor."

Victor did not know what to say to that. A small part of him broke to see the little boy in front of him with his innocence swept away, agreeing to kill if he had to in order to protect his older brother. But another part, a larger part, glowed with pride. They would be unstoppable, he could see that now. They would always be together, fighting side by side for their right to live, taking down anyone who stood in their way. He itched with anticipation thinking about the day when the fight would begin. In the end he and his brother would be the most feared and most respected beings on the continent. It was time they had some respect from those weaker than them. Victor would never allow himself to be beaten down ever again.

Jimmy was thinking differently however. He felt a sinking feeling settle deep within him, and as Victor began to lead him through the motions of another fight, he felt himself grow numb. It was as if he were watching someone else fight with those vicious claws, not himself. He did not like the feeling that surged through him as he fought his brother. But he knew he had to resign himself to his new life. He did not like it one bit, but Victor needed him. The boy was hurting deep inside after years of abuse, and Jimmy had to make sure no one would ever hurt him again. Because, he realized, he loved his brother and would do anything to keep him safe.

When the practice fighting was over and the boys settled down for the night, the rocking of the train car lulling them into slumber, Jimmy lay down close to Victor. After a moment he whispered into the darkening car.

"Victor?"

"Hmm."

"I really am sorry about making us fugitives. I just want you to know that I love you and I'm glad you're my brother."

For a long moment there was silence and Jimmy wondered if he had spoken too softly for Victor to hear. But then he felt the older boy shift slightly.

"I'm . . . glad too."

He did not say anything about the three little words that had grabbed his gut and twisted painfully hard, but he thought about them long after the smaller boy had fallen asleep.

* * *

**Awww, the sweet things little boys say before they grow up and get all self-conscious. ;P Again, there will be an epilogue and then that's the end. No more young!Victor and young!James. Although there could be a oneshot in the future to keep an eye out for. ;) In the meantime review and tell me what you think! =D**


	6. Parting

**A/N: Last chapter! I'm glad you all have enjoyed this story so much, I really did not expect to get such a big turnout! Thank you for all the wonderful reviews, they really helped keep the inspiration going! Not much makes me smile more than a good, encouraging review, and ya'll had me smiling quite a lot. =D I'm really sorry to say this is the last chapter, but it's been a good romp.**

**N.B. this takes place during the movie after the scene in Africa when Jimmy/Logan leaves Team X, but I'm sure you would have guessed that. ;P  
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****Epilogue/Parting**

Time seemed to stop as Victor watched his brother disappear into the dark forest, the echoes of his own shout still ringing in his ears. Blood began to pound in a restless rhythm, pulsating at his temples so harshly that an intense headache began to form. Even so the man did not move from the spot where he remained frozen, anger twisting his features into a hostile snarl.

After all they had been through, after all they had done, this was how it was going to end? No, it could not be. He could not allow Jimmy to get away with this. How could he abandon his only brother after all this time? And for what? For the lives of a few villagers? Jimmy had killed more than these. He went by Logan now, did he not? Logan, because he felt he was just as evil as the man who had killed his beloved stepfather.

Evil or not they had survived. Together they had lived through centuries, through wars and famine and poverty. And Jimmy was going to throw all that away over a few simple villagers. No, Victor could not allow him to get away with this.

Willing his feet to move, Victor plunged into the dense wood, determined to catch his brother and drag him back, no matter what it took.

But for the first time in his life, Victor's senses failed him. So infuriated was he, so fueled by rage, that he miscalculated and ended up in a part of the forest where no one had passed through. Jimmy's scent was no where among these trees and bushes. A roar of fury pushed through Victor's stiff lips, and he raised his fists to the sky, shouting curses at his brother.

"I will find you, Jimmy!" he screamed. "DO YOU HEAR ME?! I—WILL—FIND—YOU!"

A crack of thunder sounded high above. Rain was coming. It would wash away any hint of his brother. Victor knew he would not be able to track Jimmy in this weather. Defeated for now, he dropped to the ground and loped through the forest, growling like a wild animal.

It seemed like many years had passed by the time Victor reached civilization, when only it had been a couple days. Leaves and burrs stuck in his hair and beard. Dirt covered him almost head to toe. The wild look in his eyes never faded and hunger gnawed at his stomach, but he would not stop. It was the hatred he felt for his brother that kept him going.

When he came upon a road, he leaped upon the first car he saw. In his frenzied state he wasted no time thinking, only killed the driver and quickly took the car up the highway. It was only when a few moments passed, and his senses began to clear, that he realized someone was in the backseat. Slamming his foot on the brake, he twisted around and stared into the wide, terrified, hazel eyes of a young boy, cowering back against the leather.

Everything within Victor told him to get rid of the boy and continue on. But those eyes, those haunting hazel eyes, reminded him of another boy. A boy who had spoken three simple words to him in the dark of a train car.

"Get out," Victor growled. The boy simply trembled.

Impatience drove Victor to step out of the car, wrenching the door to the back open and grabbing the boy by the shirt. "You'd better run, boy," he snarled in the child's face before tossing him aside. He did not wait to see if the kid would obey him or not. Getting back into the car, Victor drove off, leaving behind the last good memory of his brother. All he saw now was the betrayal and the abandonment and the anger. All he felt was hatred. The words of the little boy he once knew burned in his chest like acid, for they now rang false in his ears.

"_I just want you to know that I love you and I'm glad you're my brother."_

_

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_Jimmy found the boy. He had been hitchhiking, trying to find a way back to Canada. That was the only place he knew of where he could start over. Wipe the slate clean, if he could. It was the only place he still thought of fondly, once and a while. Back before everything went downhill for him and his brother. Back when there was no killing, no bloodshed, no animal instincts.

Canada was home. And he needed to go home.

The boy was standing in the middle of the road, a lost, haunted look in his eyes. Jimmy knew that look. He had seen it often when he was a kid, in that pale face in the mirror. He did not have to ask what had happened. The claw marks on the boy's chest spoke for themselves. He wondered why the boy did not cry, for he had seen the mangled body of the child's father a couple miles back. But looking closer he saw the boy was still in shock. It would not register to him that his father was dead until later. Jimmy hoped he would be with loved ones at that time and take it better than he himself had.

Without saying a word, he picked up the boy and carried him to the closest town, putting him into the care of the nearest hospital. They tried to get his name, but he said nothing, simply walked out and kept walking.

Everything had changed. It was one thing to kill in battle. It was another to murder the innocent. He had thought Victor would know that. But his brother was too far gone in his animalistic nature to think much of humanity. Just remembering the faces of those terrified villagers made Jimmy feel sick to his stomach. They had come a long way from the two small boys playing with tin soldiers in the Howlett Manor. Closing his eyes, Jimmy could still see that manic fire in his brother's eyes, the one that seemed to be there even when they were not in battle.

His brother had changed since the years before the wars. Every battle they fought seemed to encourage and fuel Victor's bloodlust: his taste for revenge against the simple humans who had made his life so difficult as a child. Jimmy never had that same drive. All he ever wanted to do was have his brother's back.

In the end he had to leave him behind. Boarding a ship to take him to Canada, he left Team X, blood, and war behind him. It had gotten out of hand. The look of that poor young boy stranded in the middle of the road, his father's corpse only a few miles away, troubled his dreams for days.

When Jimmy stood on the ship's gangplank, ready to step out onto Canadian soil, he hesitated. He had chosen a ship because he knew it would take longer than a plane ride, and he needed time to think. Now, as he stood looking into the horizon over that familiar country, he reminded himself that from here on out he was a different person. Jimmy and Victor were no more. Now it was only Logan, and Logan had no brother.

It was better that way, he had decided. And as soon as he started making himself forget, the pain lessened. If he could continue to keep the distance between him and Victor, he knew he would be able to live a full life. Maybe even settle down. Heh. Jimmy looked down at the cigar in his hand and then lifted it up, jamming it between his teeth. The men coming down the plank avoided him, giving him a wide berth, not wanting to bother the man who had said little the entire trip and had the look of a wild animal. Maybe not. He could think of no woman who would want to settle down with someone like him.

No, Logan would be alone. It was only right. Because no matter whom he came across, he doubted she would be able to deal with the scars the many cruel years had left him with.

And so, alone, Logan came back to Canada: a hardened soldier very much different than the pale, frightened boy who had left back in the beginning.

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Many miles away, a wild animal howled in rage as his prey eluded him once more. Around him were the bodies of those who had failed to give him what he desired. He would not give up however, not until he had what he thirsted for since the very beginning: revenge.

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**I found this very interesting (in fact this played a large part in the inspiration for this story):**

_Hugh Jackman (Wolverine and the producer) and Gavin Hood (the director) compared Wolverine and Sabretooth's relationship thus: Victor hates Logan because Logan loved and needed his brother, but Victor is too proud to admit he needs Logan back._

**It fits with their personalities so well and I tried to convey that in my story. Until next time, "See you in another life, eh brotha?"**


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